


Meeting halfway: A history of missed encounters.

by Madame_V



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, Longing, M/M, Spies and Secret Agents, Weird family dynamics, angsty, cute and fluffy in spite of the angst, double-agents, love finding a way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4185258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_V/pseuds/Madame_V
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had come a long way, they had battled and lost, through fire and out of the ashes, through trials and tribulations, through weddings and funerals. And after five years of knowing each other, it was all matter of finding each other at the proper ground to start again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting halfway: A history of missed encounters.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [For your viewing pleasure.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3806197) by [Madame_V](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_V/pseuds/Madame_V). 



> This is a light version of what happened with Sherlock and John after the events portrayed in 'For your viewing pleasure', its sweet and short because they have danced this dance and they know they have nothing to hid. So with new worries in their minds and the burden of fatherhood hanging over their heads, when will it be the right time to take the last step?
> 
> I really hope you like it and I specially dedicate it to DaringD and everyone who asked to know how these two would end up. Remember that COMMENTS HELP ME NOT WRITE CREEPYPASTA WITH OUR SHIPS, no... I couldn't write horror for the life of me :) <3 But still, remember that i'm not an English native speaker and I do rely on your comments to write better for this lovely fandom.
> 
> By the by, this family dynamics is inspired by Mildredandbobbin's works and the secret agents shit by Tammany's lovely fanfiction, both are fantastic authors and I'm so on with their cannons I carry on with them through my own storylines. READ THEIR SHIT, they're awesome.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading and I leave you my heart, my soul, my panties, I don't care. I love you guys.  
> <3<3<3<3<3

Sherlock ran after their suspect, intercepting him at the end of the stairs and topping over him as the flash-drive flew from the young man's hand, sliding towards the edge of the metallic platform. He dodged a punch and as the younger man freed his hand to reach for his knife gunfire could be heard, startling their suspect effectively and allowing Sherlock to give a last punch to the jaw before lunging forwards to where the flash-drive dangled.

As the Consulting Detective ran away their second suspect, one eager Mr. Reynolds father ran up the stairs to find his son unconscious on the floor. There were no words to be uttered that could possibly calm the man “YOU ROTTING- SODDING! BASTARD!” as Sherlock braced for the upcoming charge, John appeared. The blond tackled the older man as he attempted to pounce over Sherlock, the man fell on the floor under John's powerful brace.

The movement had caused the precarious construction platform to shake, Sherlock fell, holding onto a rope at the last second. And finding safety at a lower level. He landed on the floor below John's, passing through a dirty plastic curtain “Sherlock!” the scream resounded, even if the plastic now crinkled around him. He dislodged off of it and looked up to hear John's hurried steps down the metal stairway.

John was next to him within the second as Sherlock groaned and sat up. My bones are not what they used to be, he thought as the army doctor assessed injury “And where's the Butcher?” he asked in his melodic baritone.

The blond looked up and his eye's colours were back to the wilderness of the Amazon, dark shades of blue and green. It was one of those occasions when Sherlock felt he could simply lean in and take away a breath of him. Just a few intense inches forward and claim what was and always would be his, but in light of recent events it wouldn’t be advisable.

“Ah... He'll be fine. He's done worse to those people he slaughtered...” was all the shorter man answered in a quiet, raspy voice as he looked up. There was silence on the upper floor and not a sound could be heard.

Sherlock winced a bit, apparently his side would bruise due to the fall. But it wouldn't be unbearable. He could still feel John's hands on his shoulder and ribs as he got up, the phantom of a kind, caring touch. The consulting detective smiled mischievously as he looked towards the farthest window in the abandoned paper-factory “If anyone asks, he ran into a wall...?” he questioned and John was quick to look at him.

The blond cleared his throat and followed after him once he decided to go upstairs once again and make sure the culprits were immobilized “A few times” said John as they walked side by side. Like in the old times, as if neither of them were dead men walking.

And as always it started as a shared smile. That mad grin that exploded in John's mouth so easily, the little smirk that grew from one of the sides of Sherlock's mouth. Those were the moments when Sherlock was marvelled at the complicity, how someone so common, so terribly dull could be surprising and he relished on those times, he had lost them once and continuously felt as if he hadn’t taken advantage of opportunities to their full extent.

When they reached home, it would all be a memory and John would simply cover it up as he took back to his facade of a brilliant doctor and decent father, all that worry, that love, that care he expressed now so freely at the moment would fade into a façade. As if doing so was a forbidden treat solely forgiven at times where death had been lurking around them once again.

But now, they just laughed, as if pain and suffering were beyond them and the world was a bad joke, as if John’s fingers belonged at Sherlock’s chest and shoulder and they weren’t to be parted in a few moments notice.

The sirens of the police approached the site from the distance. And the two mad men laughed.

-

Once he had ignored enough of Mycroft's phone calls, it came in the form of one of his dislocated texts. After all he was far too lazy for full sentences. But the content of the text was ground breaking, disarming and he felt at loss like he hadn't in years’ time. It read 'Mary does not exist in records. Ask John to get rid of evidence. Call mummy for further advice on containment. M'

Sherlock read the text message a few times, and then looked up at John who was now trying to feed Emma next to Sherlock as he held onto the paper, his heart clenched at the memories of how the Watsons separated. It would be five months since Mary had been discovered by his old colleagues.

As terrible as it had been for John to learn that, it didn't shock the Holmes brothers. After all, both of them knew how Secret Service could be, you can do only so much to escape your past and as a way to ensure a peaceful retirement, you should never make long-term acquaintances or settle down. You should move constantly and give yourself up for a very lonely life.

The intrusion of this old acquaintance and subsequent danger on the family had broken John Watson’s last nerve and Mary had been wrecked to discover that his love had dissolved to resentment, “We have Emma now, Mary!” he had yelled even managing to startle Mycroft.

And even if they had neutralized a small menace in the form of a few ex-colleagues of the double-agent kind, there was plenty that was out of Sherlock's hands, so Big Brother stepped in, ensuring a clean escape to Mary and telling John how reality looked like in a heated argument. He didn't believe a word until Sherlock backed-up his brother's words, against his will and with his goddaughter’s best interest at heart.

They drove in a blinded car to a secured, anonymous location during a chilly night on August. Emma was almost a year old when her mother kissed her forehead for the last time, she begged Sherlock to take care of her family, John took her in arms and they hugged for one last time before she disappeared in a helicopter. Their friends would know she was found dead and the rest of them would simply know John as a widowed man.

Who was the mother? Nobody.

Sherlock did his very best to give John space, but the man simply wanted to forget. To forget he had lost his much wanted domestic bliss, or his new handler, the love of his life, the only woman he had wanted by his side forever and after. John’s heartbreak affected his best friend in ways he couldn’t possibly understand, because every time the blond looked mournfully at pictures of her, it meant that his heart was taken away from him. So that’s what John had felt when the Woman had enraptured Sherlock’s attention.

By October, John had found his way back into 221B and Sherlock kindly cleaned the place with a lot of help from his fan-base. Anderson was delighted to rummage around his experiments and his girlfriend was only too happy to take care of the child as they moved furniture around and disinfected every corner of the kitchen and readied the spare-room to become a functional laboratory.

Sherlock moved upstairs and left the larger room for Emma and John. “Small sacrifices”, he said with a frustrated sigh, feeling the guilt of being quite so delighted to have the company. Even if it hadn’t been completely John’s choice, this was Mary’s leftovers, her wreckage and Sherlock was the broken man to mend it.

Still, through the months they came to a new rhythm, a solid, committed pace. Sherlock considered all of his cases twice and he started using 221C to see his clients “Emma needs a stable place to grow up in” he said and John’s eyes lighted. Emma walked her first steps in 221B almost three months ago and everything around her was safe. She was particularly fond of the plush toys Sherlock got for her and she explored the world of the living room only after him. Even if John was her one true love, Sherlock was her favourite life-size toy and they were fine with indulging her.

As the months passed and cases came in, John’s exclamations of childlike awe were back one afternoon as he said “That’s fantastic!” amazed at how Sherlock found a suicide note written in luminol in an attic somewhere in Islington. Sherlock didn’t turn to see, he simply smiled, preening in delight at the compliment. John started beaming at him again after and it was evident that old love wasn’t lost when Greg started calling them ‘lovebirds’ again.

They were better than ever now. Sherlock was glad to have John’s attention and care back, even if he slipped and fell in grief every once in a while as he saw Emma grow up, he soon found his way back as he saw the little girl cling to Sherlock’s trousers as he commented on how humanity was completely lost as he watched five minutes of Geordie Shore.

Coming back to the present, he looked up to see John offering a spoonful of a ghastly looking paste to the little girl and she opened her mouth looking similar to a Pollock painting. Sherlock sighed and John looked up to look at him “Case? Say 'Ahh', that's right, Em. Good girl...” the taller man looked at the child as she clapped her hands proudly and looked at him with a question in her eyes. _Clever girl_ , thought Sherlock as he offered a sad smile.

Sherlock sighed, getting up. Feeling his dressing gown fall heavily around him “Mrs. Hudson... Would you please take care of Emma's nourishment for a moment? John, a word” he demanded and walked to the door in order to get his John opened his eyes in surprise and turned to see a baffled looking Mrs. Hudson as she made her way into the kitchen.

“Oh, of course. I was bringing you the post” she said quietly, looking at the breakfast table, delighted to see that her flat's kitchen was used for its initial purpose by her only tenants, she placed a hand on John's back, pursing her lips in a questioning manner and turned to the little girl she simply looked at her and placed the tip of her finger to her nose “Hello, little ducky!” the girl rambled and smiled brightly.

John got up following Sherlock carefully with his eyes and the younger man put on his scarf and belstaff, as John was putting on his shoes. Sherlock's face was void of emotion as usual, but there was something nerve-wrecking about his overall behaviour. John licked his lips and seemed fixated on his best friend as he ran down the stairs, he looked at Mrs. Hudson and sighed.

She gave him a small smile as she finished up cleaning the little girl, they jumped as the front door opened and closed “Is everything ok with you two?” she asked looking from the door to the blonde.

John kissed his daughter's forehead and said “We'll see, Mrs. H. Don't you worry, if it's about a case I'll call her sitter, yeah?” the old woman nodded and muttered 'But he left in his pyjama’s' and barefoot.’

The auburn haired man was waiting outside with a cigarette dangling from his lips, John frowned and said “Ok, I'm here. Where did you get that?” he asked a little frustrated with the younger man.

“You would be surprised on how many smokers move through this street, all I need do is ask...” he muttered looking at the building in front of theirs. It had been completely remodelled since its demolition almost five years ago.

Blinking at Sherlock's mysterious and preoccupied look, he repeated Mrs. Hudson's initial question “Is everything ok?” Sherlock gave him a look, that watery look he saw from time to time, full of grief and bad memories.

Sherlock stood silently, not knowing how to address the situation, but buying the time though their implicit understanding. Sighing a puff of smoke and looking around. The area wasn't populated enough, a divorcée watering the plants across the street, the neighbours at home since it was Sunday and the few attendants at Speedy's moving around. It wasn't enough to ensure that the conversation would go quietly, but it was better than the flat. Better than doing it near Emma “It is news, not good or particularly bad... She has disappeared from the system...” John's entire body stiffened at the mention of his ex-wife and hurt crossed his eyes. Sherlock took one last drag off of his cigarette and said “The bad news is that we must get rid of evidence that could link her to us, I can help you salvage a few things, but-”

“Stop” and he did. John's anger was becoming evident and it made him look like a caged animal, he pressed a hand over his mouth and let out a shaky breath, the wild Amazon in his eyes became a quiet rainforest. Sherlock swallowed thickly and watched the older man look up at him “I'll go for a walk, take care of Emma for a moment.” he said darkly, not even looking at him as he walked past his best friend and best man.

Sherlock simply nodded, recalling the night of that first meeting after many years of absence, when he saw the to-be Watsons get into the cab and he had to hold back the urge to run after them. But this time he wasn’t left behind, this time he didn't even bother looking back because John’s home was here, he didn't follow after him because his anger wasn’t directed at him, he simply went inside and did as told obediently.

For once he felt his behaviour during time of crisis would matter, so he told Mrs. Hudson to go downstairs since her soap opera was starting and held a clean and fed Emma, taking her close to his chest and over to John's chair. He took his violin and plucked at the strings, trying to level his head and find a way to keep the memories of Emma's mother safe. Planning to salvage something for her angered husband. The baby fell asleep with a full tummy and a full heart as she looked into Sherlock's familiar face and heard him hum to a lullaby his mother once sang to them.

John came back from the cold, everything indicated that he had been running. Sherlock looked up to him and placed a finger over his lips, indicating that Emma was sleeping. The blond nodded and left his jacket, moving closer to them.

His heart broke with every heavy step the soldier took towards them, how his eyes looked so gentle and for a moment he could see them meeting for a soft 'welcome back' kiss. It would be so simple to call him with a small smile and simply kiss his cold lips, whisper nothings for them to take the baby girl to John's room.

Instead he got up and watched him caress the baby's head, moving to the hallway and his room, opening the sheets in her crib and making sure she was comfortable and warm. They looked down at her and Sherlock looked up at John's eyes watching him, he blinked seeing determination on the back of his eyes and John licked his chilled lips before speaking quietly “I've decided” he said and hesitated for a brief moment “I think I have all the memories of Mary that I could possibly need in her...” he said and Sherlock's heart leaped as he walked out of the room.

Following the shorter man and closing the door behind them, John sighed and said “If we can save just one picture for her, it should be fine... Can we-?”

“Yes” said Sherlock and John's eyes looked up to meet his “I've figured three ways in which we can get out with hiding that information, you will be able to choose.” John's eyes smiled helplessly and he let out a shaky breath as he muttered 'Good.'

They rarely hugged, but the moment merited human contact and Sherlock indulged easily enough, they wrapped their arms around each other and both pretended that the consulting detective's heart didn't beat harder or faster, nor did they talk about the joyful tears in John's eyes at having such a reliable companion. They simply parted later on and discussed their options as they eliminated every picture, every recording, saving only the few John couldn't find it in his heart to let go.

-

“You're hurt” said John as they walked through darkened alleyways on their way back to 221B. Sherlock's eyes shined in the dark at that point, he was processing a massive amount of information they had gotten from a witness. Needless to say it had been a slightly violent encounter as their man tried to deflect their intrusion to his home.

Sherlock hummed distractedly and said “It wasn't in his house, so he wasn't our victim's latest lover. But he did know about the orchids, so they must've dated enough for him to enter our victim’s house and-” John's strong hands grabbed him and pushed him to the light at the corner. The consulting detective lost all grasp with his thoughts, lost his logical reasoning, lost his dignity and everything he owned under John's stare. High strung from the chase and resistance, deep in his role as a soldier and it was exhilarating to have such a magnificent, promising look directed at him.

The shorter man looked at him carefully, pulling him down to his height and saying “You received an impressive blow to the head, Sherlock. If you pass out here, I'm not ever getting a cab for the both of us. I'll give you a quick check-up, ok?” Sherlock swallowed thickly, safely covered by his scarf and frowned ready to argue “Stand still, for God's sake!” the taller man squirmed like a child for a few moments but in the end, he let John have it his way.

Testing his cognitive abilities quickly and a short cranial nerve examination for good measure “Ok, very well” said the blond, satisfied with the results but wary knowing how Sherlock would easily fake through anything to get his way “Well, you were saying about the long-term lover...” John moved away and Sherlock had a split-second confusion.

But this was a familiar scene that he often ended differently in a private setting. He thought it would be like all those other times. Climbing up the stairs, sitting on boxes at the dock, on the back of a police car, hiding in a narrow cupboard in someone's house. Those times riddled in adrenalin, where John's entire being seemed to become pure energy and strength, preoccupied lines on his brow mixing with sweat and a gun in his professional hands.

Those moments where Sherlock simply had to stop for a brief second and watch out for the menace in which John Watson could turn into. He could see the same intensity as they ran after a suspect, as they stopped traffic in order to get to a destination through Sherlock's mental map. John following after everything that represented danger, debauchery, mess, attracted like a moth to a bright light that was Sherlock Holmes. He’d been aware of John’s odd looks, those brief moments before catastrophe where he looked at Sherlock as if he was a life line, as if he was the drug John couldn’t live without. He was aware that he woke something dormant in John, something he had never considered because ‘Not gay’ was a general rule.

But these days it was in the air at all times, the possibility. And it wasn’t strictly attached to moments of rush, but also to when Emma danced happily by Sherlock’s side as he played the violin for her, or as he admitted to have composed a sweet melody for her. As Emma called them ‘Lala’ and ‘Dada’, how the sociopath awkwardly responded to her loving hugs, or when John came back from work to find them sound asleep, side-by-side in his bed. The blonde usually had that one response where he licked his lips and considered…

It was uncanny how easily they had become a unit in that way as well, it was a shock how well they worked together in raising a child, revising 60 patients a day and putting a serial-killer behind bars. They mostly acted the same way as ever, as an unstoppable unit.

But Sherlock wasn't nearly as innocent as Mycroft would let himself think, nor as naïve as John would like to believe he was. He was aware of the lust, the need, the raw sensations adrenalin could cause and give an impulse to. It was like being hooked on cocaine again, when they sat side by side during the nights and Emma was already asleep, while neither of them could sleep and the question hung in the air.

Should we take it upstairs?

John would have to work through his confusion on his own, thought Sherlock as he turned off the telly and bid him goodnight buttoning his jacket to look proper as he walked upstairs under John’s hungry stare. A look much like the one he wore at that very moment, a mix of worry and desire.

Sometimes he fantasized on how easy it would be to make a quiet mess in a stranger's house, in the back of a truck that was taking them to a slaughterhouse, in those dark alleys that had seen the very birth of their friendship.

Sherlock sighed sitting on his chair, steeping his fingers under his chin as John looked for his first-aid kit and gloves. The blood on his forehead was compromising his right eye at this point. _Focus, who took the orchids from the vase?_ He thought and John sat in front of him, setting the elements on the coffee table and starting to treat Sherlock’s wounds.

“You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days...” the blonde muttered as he put a few stitches on Sherlock's right eyebrow.

Sherlock didn't move, his eyes were still lost in the distance as he tried to focus and dive into his Mind Palace while John sterilized the wound “I thought I had already achieved that successfully” he said quietly before he could mind his words and prevent the hurt that crossed John's eyes, making him stop his motions and sigh in exasperation “Too soon?” he asked.

John looked at him, before tying the thread and check on the bruise again “It will always be too soon, Sherlock. Look up...” he muttered and Sherlock did as told. They were so terribly close and Sherlock wanted to hold onto the blond, ask for forgiveness but a nagging thought at the back of his mind insisted that he needed to know about the vase.

As the addiction screamed, he placed his bandaged forehead on John’s shoulder and muttered “Apologies.” John snorted and shook his head, placing a hand over his hair, caressing the curls as if to say that there was nothing to forgive. Sitting back and away from John's caring touch he said “Very well, satisfied, John? Now either help me understand the matter with the empty vase or leave.”

The army doctor rolled his eyes, got up and took off his gloves, taking away the gauze and elements they had used back to the top cupboard in the kitchen “I don't know. Why would anyone take the bloody flowers? If it was out of spite, because I gifted them, I might take them, but-” he sounded on the edge of his patience.

The Consulting Detective was up and getting his gloves before John could think “Oh, John... John, of course, the plastic smell, they weren’t natural flowers, he burned them. And the strange stains on the carpet in front of the fireplace will not be semen.”

John’s eyes brightened as he perched on the kitchen counter “Melted plastic?”

“Certainly, meaning that our murderer, our disgruntled lover...” Sherlock's eyes were almost white from the light within them and John's blinked a few times, frowning, making memory. _Come on, John,_ he thought.

His eyes widened as he followed after Sherlock down the stairs “Mr. Ducie, he had a bandaged hand the other day.” he said. Sherlock offered a mad smile and opened the door for his unofficial concubine. After all they were always a step away.

-

“Sherlock...” he emerged slightly at the sound of a voice “Come on, Sherlock. You've been catatonic all day” Sherlock laughed within the confines of his Mind Palace as he selected a few things to erase before he was too distracted to work properly. John always did the trick, he was always humorous and tolerant.

“Oh, let him, Doctor Watson.” came Mycroft's voice, low and quiet, like the whispering sound of an approaching snake “You can show him the invitation later, it will be better than to deal with his screeching and hostile tantrums.”

“Mycroft” said Greg's voice holding a warning “Don't listen to him, he gets like that when he's doing something fun at work and the announcement seems to be interrupting it. He'll get on his phone in a minute.” The man sounded as confident as tired as ever. Sherlock shivered in disgust within himself at the thought that it would be because somehow the Iceman’s sex drive had been woken.

“I would not do such a thing, when you so expressly requested-” a phone chime could be heard “Witchcraft.” Mycroft held a deep, proud smile that affected his voice. _Of course, he’s shagging the only mildly-intelligent man in London_ , thought Sherlock angrily his voice resounding as he erased an old case John had blogged.

John laughed and Sherlock opened his eyes to see Mycroft looking down at his phone, Greg, John and Em sitting on the couch and the tale telling white, linen invitation. A wedding invitation if the ring on his brother's finger was anything to go by “Ugh” he said “John, fetch me my gun.”

“Oh, don't be childish, Sherlock.” said Mycroft as he answered his texts rapidly, trying to keep the secrecy of what he was dabbling into “You barely made it out of the first time you attempted suicide.” he commented coldly and Sherlock could practically feel John's glowering eyes on them.

Greg frowned as well “Christ, do you two have to do this? Really, Mike?” Mycroft looked at his brother as Sherlock got the hand that he was covering his eyes with, raising an eyebrow in question as he mouthed 'Mike?' and Mycroft simply narrowed his eyes as Sherlock’s features turned devious.

“Too soon?” asked Mycroft innocently looking at his fiancée and the man sighed again “Either way, that was the happy announcement we were to tell you.”

“The gun, John” insisted Sherlock, as the blond reached for the invitation and held it out for him to read.

“What gun?” he asked with a little, innocent smile as he held the invitation towards the auburn haired detective “I have no registered guns. Do I, Inspector Lestrade?” he asked getting up with Emma once Sherlock accepted the piece of paper. And left Emma on him, Sherlock looked at the little girl frowning and letting her take the invitation to her mouth.

“I believe not, if you did I would feel forced to confiscate it” said Greg watching at John as he went to the kitchen to find something to make a toast.

Sherlock muttered “Ridiculous” then turned his attention to the only rational being in the room as he cooed Emma to get that preposterous thing out of her mouth. The couple looked at Sherlock attentively. Even if his brother was merely observing their exchange, Greg admired it with a fond smile about his face. Who’d knew? The little girl laughed and pulled at his hair, pulling him closer, then placing her open mouth on his cheek. Sherlock smiled, leaving the soaked paper on the coffee table.

Once Emma released him, he heard John's voice and turned to see him standing at the kitchen entrance with his phone up “That's how she kisses, you know. We have to save these for her Sweet Sixteen birthday, make her feel embarrassed.”

“I thought we agreed that to make her feel embarrassed I would pick her up from school” said Sherlock and Greg barked out a laugh as his brother’s eyes sparkled amusement.

“Poor child, you'll never stand a chance with these two, yeah?” said Greg looking at the little girl as she walked towards her unofficial uncle.

Sherlock looked at Greg with an indignant look about his face “You have lost your mind, Lestrade. What were you thinking?” he hissed.

Greg rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch helping Emma take a seat next to him “That I love your brother and I'd like to spend the rest of my life with him?” he shrugged nonchalantly. Adding to Sherlock's revulsion, Mycroft gave the other man a bland, enamoured look.

“Ugh. John! Come at once! I believe I'll be sick if I cannot find a rational human being within the confines of my own household!” he said with a look that transpired his disgust.

John shoved a glass of old champagne in his face. The one he'd been saving for a special occasion “You'll survive.” He said.

Dedicating the blond a dirty look as he went to the kitchen to serve two more glasses, he looked back at his brother and got up speaking in Swahili, as fluent as a native from the depths of Eastern Africa “ _Congratulations on finding someone that will bear with you_.”

Mycroft hummed and after a minute of merging lexical and languages he said “ _Same to you, brother mine. A toast for domestic bliss_.” he raised his glass and looked at his younger brother “ _I am happy to see you quite so… Tamed._ ” His sly smile widened.

Greg sighed and said “Oh, lovely. Looks like it’s me and you, little one” he smirked at Emma as she frowned, doing her best to follow Lala’s conversation and getting frustrated quickly.

“ _I am still able to make your life a very difficult one, if you hurt my Inspector_.” said Sherlock as he felt Mycroft's words claw deep in his chest and jealousy over what he had achieved even if through deceit “ _He is a decent man_.”

“ _I know, he makes me a better person_ ” he said without even looking at the man in question “ _So is yours, do take care of him this time. It's rare to get a second chance in this life_.” he said.

Sherlock looked taken aback and his eyes darted to the kitchen as Greg tried to keep Emma smiling to no avail “ _There is no such thing as chance_.” reminding him of his own words. Mycroft simply gave him that unnerving mocking look that spoke volumes of what Sherlock didn't know.

The consulting detective took Emma in arms and smiled softly at her, as the girl held onto him, sniffling sadly, while Mycroft looked at his fiancée as he attended his phone with an apologetic look, speaking with his team rapidly giving directions and Sherlock saw it by himself. That admiration, that glee and comfort of relying on someone else, it made Mycroft's eyes glow brighter and his brother would give him another quiet recommendation that came in the form of an admission of fault.

“Sometimes there is.” Said Mycroft quietly in English and watched Greg come back to the couch. Sherlock looked back into the kitchen wanting to leave Em with her father and simply run to the streets, run anywhere where he could find solace or fix his frustrations.

“Christ, apparently a bloke went crazy and it ended up badly. I’ll have to go.” He said as John handed him out a glass, looking at Sherlock’s disinterested look. Greg now looked even more tired and his fiancée sighed, placing a hand over his shoulder. The way they looked at each other hurt the auburn haired detective, but John whispered ‘Congratulations’ giddily and Emma offered him another open mouthed kiss to the cheek. Suddenly he wasn’t alone, he had adopted a family and it was his greatest adventure yet, because John’s child loved him and her father possibly did as well.

“To love” all of them looked stunned at Sherlock, as he rose his glass, fixing his eyes on Emma's deep blue ones. Glasses clinked without a question and Mycroft simply smiled at his brother, there were quizzical looks coming from both Greg and John, but somehow a wedding in the Holmes family... It had never been something to be expected.

So it was a happy announcement indeed, it was chance that the most powerful man in the world was the loneliest in it too, that Greg was clever enough to challenge him, that they met through a junkie, that said junkie was saved once by a broken army doctor and that both of them were saved by a baby's hand.

There was hope for a brief second, love was real for as long as they would be together. Even if Sherlock watched them part at the entrance it was with a tender peck on the lips, and he envied them as he heard John take care of the dishes in the kitchen “Do you know where I could get a tuxedo? You need to get a new suit as the best man as well, Sherlock!” he smiled leaving Emma on the floor and took his violin in hand, extracting pained notes from the instrument. Speaking a story of encounters that never were, of kisses that never happened, and of aborted plans and settling, of cowardice and uncertainty.

It made Emma cry again. And, as John cradled her in arms, he still sat to watch the brilliant man absorbed by his music, he missed that same admiration that he'd witnessed in Mycroft's eyes come across John's.

-

“Oh, it was absolutely beautiful, my dear!” Mrs. Holmes hugged Greg for the fifth time over the dinner table.

Greg chuckled and returned the hug under his husband's watchful gaze “Thank you, Mrs. Holmes.” he repeated as people walked around them. It had been designed to be a small gathering, only fifty people witnessed their union and they signed their civil partnership at the same time, so this was it. They were officially joined in an old-fashioned ceremony, bells and parades as Mycroft would have it and Greg would gladly allow.

“Oh, no such thing! You must call me Mummy from now on. Oh, dear, and the flowers they were exquisite, Mrs. Hudson told me she picked the colours too, absolutely lovely! I wish I had been here to help, but they were having a few problems with the accelerator, but I did bring you all treats from Switzerland. Didn't we, Mr. Holmes?” the man quietly nodded, with a happy smile on his face as Mycroft simply sighed rubbing at his temples.

“You shouldn't be speaking of C.E.R.N. project matters, mummy.” said the red-haired man.

“Oh, Micky could you be less funereal at your wedding?” Greg had to bite his lips to keep himself from laughing and placed a hand on Mycroft's shoulder, the man looked as embarrassed as Mycroft Holmes possibly could.

“Why would he ever, mummy? It's his natural state.” Said Sherlock, standing near the group, John giggled and gave his congratulations to the DI, patting his shoulder heartily.

Mr. Holmes sighed and said “These times should be truly relished, when family comes together to find their centre. Even if characters are different and clashing, or difficulties ahead may be frightening, it's important to count on this moment when souls and minds meet in happiness to cherish love for one another.”

Violet’s eyes watered again, as she looked at her husband and the family they had created throughout their years together ‘Oh, Siger’ she muttered absolutely in love. Mrs. Hudson's fingers clawed on Sherlock's arm as she sniffled helplessly ‘So very true’ she muttered and John placed a hand around her. Even Anthea, in her lovely, deep purple evening dress looked properly moved at the words and the couple they were celebrating looked at each other for a brief second, smiling enchanted.

“I didn't know you Da talked like that” Greg muttered.

The consulting detective rolled his eyes and said “Most assume he doesn't speak at all” John snorted.

Mycroft looked at them disapprovingly and smiled at his husband “Oh, he is brilliant with words. He is both a prosecutor and an editor. Mummy and him met through her books.” He explained.

Beyond those moments where the family gathered around the grooms, there were plenty of family and close friends. Most of the Yard, Greg's aunts and sisters had attended, they all gossiped about the cost of the wedding and how Mycroft was well-off and how his younger brother looked better in person than in television.

Mycroft's few colleagues and trusted ones were disperse and assessing the situation, they soon relaxed enough to dance and Greg’s cousins were only too happy to show them how. Then there was the strange photographer, that pulled the Holmes brothers aside to show them the tapes. It would be less obvious if Sherrinford encountered his brothers briefly and left quickly, Anthea made sure to remind him of said urge as he slipped back into his character and left them, brandy in hand and sadness lingering in their hearts.

But the occasion merited a reunion, according to Ford, but he had always been softer than his younger brothers. Mycroft had gotten married, at last there was someone mad enough to take upon the challenge of finding his heart. All of them watched proud as they left for their honeymoon in an undisclosed location ('If you call it sex holiday, I will murder you and use your money for therapy, Sherlock' said John through a toothy smile). The evening ended shortly after, Sherlock and John had to get back home and send the babysitter away.

So they helped Mrs. Hudson into her home, she was tipsy and if anyone cared to ask, she deserved one and all of their attentions as their landlady and keeper. She was more important than the Queen in plenty of ways. They left her fast asleep on her bed, and exited the woman's flat quietly. Laughing giddy and again, Sherlock looked down at John's smile that matched his.

There they were again, where everything started. At the entrance of 221B, where John and he crossed after that first chase, knowing they were bad for each other in the best of ways, the stairs where they fell asleep at John's stag-do, side by side as always, the flat where they had found each other in that fateful evening where Mary had abdicated her post as a wife and mother. Great changes had happened right there and they had always found their way back home.

Once they were finally upstairs, John sent the babysitter away (Since he didn't trust Sherlock to do so without insulting her in the process) and the consulting detective checked on a soundly asleep Emma. Sherlock was a bit tipsy himself, at the end of the night and John went to the kitchen to make them some tea, it would help with the hangover. The blond looked beyond dapper in his tux, even if after a few spins around the dancefloor his bow tie was hanging around his neck and his jacket left open.

John looked down self-consciously “I’m a mess and you’d be ready to attend to a Royal Wedding looking as fresh as ever. How do you bloody manage?” he chuckled as he entered the kitchen.

The taller man looked at him from the dark living room and smiled in its privacy “I blame boarding school.”

The first tinges of sunrise started to change the sky and Sherlock stood looking out the window mesmerized, his thoughts were a quiet ramble now, so he looked at the sky as the pale lights from the street that reflected on his features. And John was there, he didn't need to look to feel the man's presence. It was odd, because logically they weren't part of one, they were separate individuals. But since John had limped his way into his life, he had stayed imbedded in his very DNA.

John was the first to speak, ever so courageous even if change was tingling in the air “Funny, is it?” his voice sounded relaxed and mellow.

Knowing exactly at what he referred to, Sherlock answered “It is unprecedented, yes.” his baritone resounded in the dark room.

“Unexpected. How long have we known each other, after all?” he asked in a serious tone, looking at Sherlock as the tea brewed on the desk.

The younger man sighed and closed his eyes as he said “Including my lost years or excluding them?”

There was a moment of silence, of grief for all things lost, for all that could have been and wasn't and he spoke in a quiet tone “You were constantly on my mind, so might as well include them.”

Sherlock forgot to blink as he stared at the reds and blues battling each other for dominance. Humming he said “Five years, ten days and six hours” he responded and then looked at his feet as he said “I did think of you often in my absence.”

John chuckled fondly and pushed his shoulder to Sherlock's side playfully as he said “Yeah, I know, probably talked to me when I wasn't there and chided like you always do. Requesting pens and papers.”

“I did, yes. But I believe it was my way of missing you. I never knew...” the genius beamed slightly finding the words to explain the utter desolation his absence meant “Company can make a difference, but when the person beside you is the right one the absence is beyond noticeable.” and he was true to his word. The years without knowing what he missed, were far less challenging in a way, than the ones after he knew better.

The blond smiled at him “Holmesian for: You're my BFF and I missed you a lot?”

There was a moment of silence and Sherlock blinked, cursing internally “What's a BFF?” Sherlock asked, frowning in confusion.

John did his best to keep his cackle down in order to not wake Emma “Nothing, you are. Forget it. Are you googling it?” he asked watching as his best mate took his phone out of his pocket to do a search.

“Using teenagers slang is beneath you, John” was all he could comment a second later, but seemingly making a note for later use.

John rolled his eyes and licked his lips “I have a daughter now, I have to know those things.”

“Of course, you haven't memorized these things to confuse me” said Sherlock accusing, even if this was all a bland joke between them.

John snorted and opened his mouth in disbelief “As fun as that would be and I might even do it in the future, I haven't...” he defended.

“Best Friend Forever” commented Sherlock after a few moments of silence.

John scratched the back of his neck and said “Yes and no”

The Consulting Detective's eyes widened and his heart nearly stopped as he thought that John knew of his passionate admiration “How so?”

John hummed thoughtfully for a few moments and then he crossed his arms over his chest, as if to keep his resolve “Well, ah... Most BFF's wouldn't take in their BFF's and their children into their house. Even if they might take the punches most times, but those wouldn't be literal, concussion-making punches...”he licked his lips nervously.

“Ah” was all Sherlock commented, looking out the window once again.

“Yeah” muttered John.

“In my defence you can hardly be in harm's way regarding Emma” Sherlock added quietly, putting his hands in pockets. Pointedly looking out, now leaning next to the window.

With the last of his patience John shot a last, deadly bullet to Sherlock's weakened heart “And you have to be on your best state as well, Emma loves you too.”

They stayed silent for a few moments and Sherlock went back to his phone before saying “Cor” in a deep cockney accent.

The blond laughed and pressed a hand to his face as he said “Oh, God, stop that. Give me your phone, you're a menace” he was possibly the only person in the world that could possibly take Sherlock's phone away from his hands.

Chasing it in the air before John tossed it to the couch “You are interfering with my learning process” he whined mockingly, hand still in the air.

“You'll survive” said John taking his teacup and joining Sherlock back at the window. His company was soothing as always and after their little conversation the auburn haired man's mind was full of exclamations, of questions, of confessions and none of them seemed correct, none of them came close to the undying love and compromise he felt towards the Watson's. Nothing he could possibly say would describe on how thankful he was for John's existence.

“John” he said after a while, as the blonde put his mug down and empty.

The blond looked up at the genius “Yes, Sherlock” he answered as he took the mugs in one hand

The consulting detective looked down and frowned, opening his mouth and closing it “You cannot ask me to put you in harm’s way. I-” he paused his confession, lacking the breath or the wisdom to convince John to pick him this time, to trust again.

He didn’t know how to make such meaningful words to come out without hurting himself in the process, without finding himself at the end of John’s sorrowful glance and embarrassed look, without ruining what he had worked so terribly hard to retrieve. So he clamped his mouth shut and cursed under his breath, frustrated. In the privacy of the darkness, the sky tinted red and yellow in the distance, casting shadows that would swallow this earnest moment.

And when John simply sighed, placing the mugs back on the top of their desks “Ok, that's ok... Christ, you idiot.” he said and pulled the genius down into a kiss, there were no questions to answer. It was obvious they had fallen in love a long time ago, even The Woman had seen it, Mary had always known, Mycroft had predicted it.

It was due time, and the wait, the years of longing only made it sweeter. John’s hands pulled him closer by the waist and Sherlock complied easily, placing one hand on his jaw. Because they should never stop, it felt terribly right, it shook the Earth under their feet and left them looking at each other, finding each other again for the first time, smiling and pressing their foreheads together “Took us a bloody long time.” Was all John dared comment after a silence filled by their ragged breaths.

And Sherlock kissed him again, not daring to take him further just yet. Even of the blonde’s arms were pulling him closer, even if he responded each movement with wicked intent “You have time to repent.” he said quietly in his deepest voice, feeling John's hands tremble on his lower back as Sherlock's bruised lips reached the man's ear “But I am not leaving again, John.” he said his name with absolute reverence. John, his John. His healer, his mad man, his honorable soldier. The blonde shivered and laughed happily as he held onto the taller man, like they were to never part again, like there was no love like theirs and no greater story to tell.

They snogged for long hours, finding each other again and again until morning. Not daring break this dream, as if each kiss was their first and their last and from then on, there were no sad tunes to Sherlock's melodies, there was no grief that couldn't be mended in the back of John's lively eyes and Emma was fortunate to be a part of a long lasting romance. Written in the stars and found by chance.

**-**

**C'est fini.**

**Author's Note:**

> Did I ruin your life? Did you just like it? Did I earn a comment? *wiggles tail* :D


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